Killing Crookshanks
by undercloakkept
Summary: Ron accidentally kills Crookshanks. He swears he didn't mean to! WARNING: Situational comedy with major character death, though temporary & fictional. Only to be read by the reasonably mature and those capable of enjoying an irreverent laugh.


A/N: This story is clearly entitled "KILLING CROOKSHANKS." The story summary also made it clear that Ron will be ACCIDENTALLY KILLING CROOKSHANKS. If that is something that will disturb you, even though it is intended as situational comedy, please take responsibility to SELF-GOVERN and simply elect not to read this story. It is not my intent to offend or disturb anyone and I do not know how to give any more clear warning about what is to follow. Thanks. Now on with the story.

KILLING CROOKSHANKS

Ron lay with one eye open, watching as his wife put the final touches on her make up. Crookshanks sat at her elbow, occasionally nudging her forearm. Hermione rewarded him each time with an affectionate scratch behind his ears. No one knew Crookshanks' precise age, but other than McGonagall's most recent transformations, Crookshanks was the oldest, grumpiest cat in memory. Although Ron would have denied it, he had secretly been feeding Crookshanks vitamins and rejuvi-potions for several years, hoping to assure his longevity. His jealousy of the cat, only half in jest, had been a steady source of Hermione's amusement for over a decade.

Years ago, Ron and Crookshanks had been like enemy satellites orbiting the same planet, but their mutual love for Hermione had ultimately resulted in the affectionately grudging public détente they now observed. In Hermione's presence, that is. What went on between them in private was an entirely different matter. Crookshanks had a habit of emanating a certain animosity towards Ron whenever Hermione wasn't looking, and a result, Ron frequently made joking threats at Crookshanks' expense.

Snuggling down into the mattress, Ron feigned sleep. He was hoping to enjoy a bit of a lie-in after Hermione left for work. Or perhaps even better. As Hermione approached the bed, Ron carefully repositioned the sheet and burrowed into the mattress. "Love you," he murmured, trying to look as if he'd just woken up and hoping that he looked fetching.

"Wouldn't want you to get cold, Ron," Hermione smiled as she pulled the sheet back up over his bare bum. "You can't afford the _shrinkage_."

_Ouch! Talk about cold_, Ron thought grumpily.

Hermione tucked Crookshanks into the nook behind Ron's knees. "Okay boys, you two keep each other warm," she said, dropping a kiss on Ron's shoulder. A few moments later, he heard her take the Floo.

As soon as Hermione left the house, Crookshanks dropped all pretense of civility. Ron's blood ran cold when he heard the ominous low "Raaaaaawwwwrrrr" from just behind his insufficiently protected bum. Not for the first time, he felt Crookshanks' incisors penetrate the skin of his arse.

"Gerooofff me you wanker!" Ron yelped, thrashing about and hoping to unseat Crookshanks by whipping the sheet out from under him. Ron did not anticipate the full effect of his movement and he was surprised when the sheet formed a catapult of sorts, launching Crookshanks forcefully off of the bed and through the air at high velocity.

"Mraaaawrrrrrrrr!" Crookshanks protested, mid-flight. "Mra…" Crookshanks hit the wall with a heavy thud. He plummeted limp-legged to the floor, where he lay motionless.

Ron, taken by surprise, was now sitting on his knees in the bed with the sheet pulled up to his chin. His heart was thudding rapidly. "Uh…Crookshanks? Cat? Crookshanks?" Ron had sworn the next words would never cross his lips. "Heeeeere kitty kitty kitty kitty kitty."

Crookshanks remained prone on the floor, not dignifying this with a response. Although the ancient cat had been momentarily stunned, he had returned to his senses just in time to hear the ginger-haired interloper doing the ridiculous "kitty kitty" routine. Crookshanks had immediately opted for complete and utter stillness. _This could be fun._

"Bloody hell! I've killed him! I've killed her cat! Bloody hell." Ron quickly pulled on his jeans and began pacing about the room, keeping a wide berth from the fallen feline. "She'll kill me. She'll kill me! She'll think I did it on purpose!"

Ron was quickly becoming frantic. He summoned enough courage to stand over Crookshanks and prod him gently with a toe. Dead weight. "Shite! Shite Shite Shite!" Ron flung himself down on the bed, head in his hands.

Crookshanks was so delighted with the proceedings that it was a struggle for him not to purr. _Playing dead is my new favorite game._

_Let me think. Let me think._ Ron struggled to formulate a plan. "Medi-Vet!" He remembered seeing a 24 hour Emergi-Medi-Vet just down the street from St. Mungo's. Flinging himself down in front of the Floo, he frantically fire-called the Medi-Vet. As Ron's head erupted from the ash, a young Medi-vet wearing white robes was just pulling a grate down over the clinic's hearth. "Sorry, we're closed."

"But the sign says 'Open 24 hours!'" Ron wailed.

"Well, not in a _row_," scowled the Medi-vet, slamming the grate in Ron's face.

_Need to call Harry. Need to get help. Need to call Harry. Need to get help._ Ron repositioned his head in the Floo, mentally changing his trajectory. "Harry! Get over here. Now!"

"Can't right now, mate. What's wrong?"

"What's wrong? I think I've killed Crookshanks, that's what's wrong! Threw him against the wall. Didn't mean to, you understand, but Hermione thinks I've always wanted to. Said so often enough. And now she'll think I went and did it. _On purpose_! Murder me Harry. Murder me quick. She can have a double burial."

"Ron, listen to me. You've got to calm down. You've got to come up with a plan."

"Plan, yeah, that's right. A plan. How 'bout I plan to move to Siberia before Hermione figures out I killed Crookshanks? How 'bout I plan to just pack my stuff and check in to Azkaban? That'll be more laughs than living with her after what I've done."

_Suits me_, thought Crookshanks. _Let me get your bag_. He was enjoying the interloper's distress immensely. Although it was increasingly hard to conceal his glee, Crookshanks had twitched not so much as his tail.

"Ron, that's not helping. A plan, Ron. Make a plan. First, you have to make sure Crookshanks is really dead. Can you do that, Ron? Ron! Can you do that?"

"I think so, yeah." Ron pulled his head out of the Floo and approached the cat. He was trembling from head to toe and he was so distraught that he couldn't think properly.

Crookshanks lay as still as he could, scarcely daring to breath. The cat had quickly formulated a plan of his own. _I'll wait until the very last minute and come up hissing and scratching. This is too purrrrfect_. _Oops. Hope he didn't hear that._

Harry's voice from the Floo was an order. "Ron! Make sure Crookshanks is dead."

Ron didn't hesitate. "_Avada Kedavra._"

Crookshanks' eyes flew open. For an instant, shocked yellow eyes met equally shocked blue ones over a deadly green light. For once, Ron and Crookshanks were in complete accord. _SHITE!_

"What was that?" Harry's face in the Floo was ashen; his glasses were askew. "Ron, what have you done? Tell me you did NOT just AK Crookshanks."

Ron was frozen on the spot. His voice climbed to a new octave. "You said make sure he was dead. So I did. _Made sure he was dead_." His high pitched wail trailed off into wordless whimpers. Had Harry not recognized the sound, he would have thought his best friend had been overtaken by a fit of girlish giggles.

Harry spoke slowly, as if to a first year. "Ron, I meant for you to check the cat to make sure that he was actually dead, not just injured or unconscious or something."

"SHOULD'VE SAID SO, THEN! Now I've gone and done it! Killed Crookshanks! AK'd him right in the middle of the damn bedroom! She'll kill me. She'll kill me! First it'll be the birds, then she'll bloody kill me! And she'll never forgive me. Not for this. Harry, what do I do?"

Harry had always liked Crookshanks but he was finding it hard not to laugh at his friend's predicament. "Nothing for it, mate. You'll just have to tell her it was an accident. It's not like she won't notice that he's not, er…feeling fit."

Ron had thrown himself down on the bed, head once again in hands. _Let me think. Let me think._ Taking several deep breaths and determinedly calming his trembling, Ron assessed his situation. When at last he raised his head, the sadness and guilt in his eyes had been joined by resolve. Harry was right. There was nothing else for it. Ron stood up slowly and dropped the sheet over Crookshanks' body. _I'm really sorry, Crooks. I swear I didn't mean to._

Ron took a deep, steadying breath before whirling around and drawing his wand on Harry, whose bodiless head still poked from the Floo, defenseless. "Best not to have witnesses, Harry." Harry's jaw barely had time to drop before the flick of Ron's wand. "_Obliviate_."

Ron quickly stowed his wand and, without missing a beat, scowled at Harry. "Well that's right pervy, don't you think?"

Harry was quite startled to find himself peering into Ron and Hermione's bedroom. "No, Ron, really, I…"

"Just limit yourself to the one in the parlor from now on, alright? What do you want, anyway?"

Harry's brow was furrowed. He felt a headache coming on. "Uh, I don't, uh, remember, really, I uh…" Harry's head disappeared in a puff of ash.

Hours later, Hermione came home to find Ron sitting in the dark, head in hands. She rushed to his side.

"Ron, what's wrong?"

"Crookshanks died."

"What?" Hermione sank to the sofa, her face crumpling in tears. "But he was fine this morning. Where is he? What happened?"

Ron couldn't lie but he couldn't tell all, either. "When I got out of bed he was lying on the floor. Like he was sleeping except he wouldn't wake up." Tears slid over his freckles. "I'm so sorry, Hermione."

As was often the case, Hermione coped with unwanted emotion by turning it into anger.

"Ronald Weasley, how could you?"

_Merlin, she knows! How the bloody hell does she know?_

"Hermione, I swear I didn't mean…"

"You can be so insensitive! You don't just blurt out and tell someone their cat died. It's too shocking! You've got to build up to bad news like that. Break it to a person gently."

"Huh?"

"You don't just tell someone 'Your cat died.' It's far too blunt. You've got to give them some sort of preamble. To lessen the blow, for Merlin's sake."

"Preamble?"

Hermione mopped her tears with her sleeve, glaring at Ron all the while. "Preamble, Ron. To give the news time to sink in. You say something like 'Hermione, Crookshanks crawled out on the roof.' Then you go on to say that he was sitting happily in the sunshine, that he was chasing birds or something, that he was having the time of his life when he took a misstep, fell to the ground and, despite every effort on your part, he expired. And that he never knew. He never knew what hit him."

"But he wasn't ever even on the roof." _And I'm fairly certain he knew what hit him._

"Ron, you've missed the point entirely." Hermione stood up in a huff and marched off to their bedroom, where Ron knew she would cry herself to sleep. At least the worst was over. Or so he thought.

Hermione remained so distraught that Ron asked her mum to come and stay with her the next day. As luck would have it, Hermione was called to the Ministry unexpectedly and Ron ended up spending the afternoon alone with Mum Granger. She made herself busy in the kitchen while Ron lounged on the sofa watching televised quidditch. Broadcasting a magical channel on the Muggle telly was George's best idea yet.

As the sun began to go down, Ron realized he hadn't heard anything out of Mum Granger for several hours. He went to the kitchen to check on her. It was not good. Mum Granger was laid out motionless on the kitchen floor, body horribly contorted, eyes glassy.

"Bloody Hell!" Ron was racing towards the fireplace to fire-call Harry when Hermione stepped out onto the hearth.

She stood on tiptoe and kissed his nose before burying herself in his arms. "Ron, I've missed you. How was your day?"

Though his mind was racing, Ron drew a calming breath.

"Hermione, your mum crawled out on the roof."

A/N: Not to worry, Friends. I have it on good authority that Mum Granger was just practicing her Pilates and that Crookshanks is sporting a lightning bolt scar on his forehead (nine lives and all). I hope you got a laugh and are kind enough to say so. No need to be eloquent, a simple "Ha!" will suffice to encourage future comedic endeavors. Thanks for reading.


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